


The New Order of Things

by Gelsey



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: sshg_exchange, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 15:34:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1392937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gelsey/pseuds/Gelsey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No one wants to go to the Victory Day party. However, the celebration goes rather differently that planned…</p>
            </blockquote>





	The New Order of Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kribu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kribu/gifts).



> Written in 2008, I believe, for the SS/HG exchange, for kribu.
> 
> Original Prompt: 2. Hermione wants Ron, Ron wants Harry, Harry wants Snape, Snape wants Hermione. Can go humour, threesome, orgy, angst, fluff, or whatever. (Ron and/or Harry can be replaced by characters of your choice, but I'd rather not have a threesome or orgy with Remus involved.)

Victory Day was a day Hermione Granger dreaded with all her might. The year since the war had ended had been surprisingly difficult, especially with the extra spotlight shone not only on Harry but on herself and Ron as well.

So no, none of them was particularly looking forward to the celebrations they would _have_ to attend. Not even Ron was enjoying the attention any more, though he had rather preened under it at first, once the shock of losing one of his brothers wore off a little.

“You look so handsome tonight,” Hermione told Ron, reaching up to smooth a bit of his red hair back. He did look quite dashing in his dark blue robes, though he ducked his head away from her ministrations, his eyes casting themselves away and latching onto the third of their Trio as he entered.

“I can’t believe I’m wearing green,” Harry Potter said in an aggrieved sounding voice, looking one step above sulky and petulant. “If Snape is there, I’m sure to get a tongue-lashing for looking like a Slytherin.”

Ron’s expression soured at the mention of Potions master. “I don’t see why you make us talk to him every time we see him,” he said, hitting the note of petulance that Harry had missed.

“Because, Ronald, Severus Snape nearly _died_ for all of us. You could show a little more respect, you know,” Hermione said with a faint sniff, and Harry nodded in agreement.

Ron’s face clouded over further, and Hermione sighed to herself—this was an oft-repeating argument, especially since events had thrown them together with their ex-Professor a lot recently, given the time of year. 

“All right then, everyone ready to leave?” she said more loudly, effectively cutting off anything Ron had been about to say (the glaring was getting tiresome, especially since he didn’t do it well). “Good, let’s go. Minerva wants us there early to avoid the worst of the press.”

At that, Hermione shepherded the two men to the door and outside so they could Apparate in tandem to Hogwarts to join the ‘festivities.’

~o0o~

It was as bad as they’d been dreading. Minerva had obviously _tried_ to keep it at an acceptable level, but the Ministry had just as obviously superseded her authority and gone full out. Thank Merlin the children had already gone home for the summer.

Minerva—they’d been on first name terms since after the last battle—ushered them in through the greenhouses to avoid having them mobbed by reporters in the Entrance Hall. “They’re not allowed into the Great Hall,” she told them as they went through a couple of back corridors they’d never managed to explore during their tenure at the school. “Or the back gardens, but you never know what they’ll manage to do.”

Hermione’s mind automatically went to Rita Skeeter and her little beetle shell, and she pursed her lips slightly. Her fingers practically itched to squash her—a violent streak that had appeared at some point during their wartime experiences. 

Of course, Ron didn’t notice the expression—he was already eyeing the food tables. She frowned slightly. Or was he eyeing Harry? It was hard to tell; Harry was right in front of the tables. 

Had to be the tables. What was she thinking—Ron wouldn’t be eyeing Harry in that hungry kind of way. Never.

“That’s good,” Hermione told the Headmistress, already wishing it were time to go home. 

They lurked as much as famous people could lurk as more and more people arrived at what was supposedly the Biggest Party Ever. There was straight up alcohol, of course, and mysterious punch, doubtless also alcoholic, in the magical ice fountain that entranced many people—Flitwick’s work, Hermione suspected by the looks of it.

The rest of the Weasley clan appeared, the happy older couple, scarred Bill and his wife, Charlie with his boyfriend (that had been a revelation), dependable Percy, and Ginny with her boy-toy flavour of the week (doubtless trying to taunt Harry still, though he probably wouldn’t notice). Even the ever-reclusive, one-eared George had made the effort of an appearance. He seemed more himself tonight, though he did stay on the fringes, eventually floating off somewhere. She spotted him over near the punch and wondered if imbibing of it would really be a wise decision… but everyone dealt with grief in individual ways. It was time for George to be doing something different, anyhow.

“Would you fetch me a drink, Ron?” Hermione asked her boyfriend, a gentle hand on his back pushing him toward the punch table. Getting the brothers to interact always seemed to help somehow.

“Meddling again?” Harry said quietly behind her. She could hear the amusement in his voice.

“Not meddling,” she disagreed good-naturedly. She saw her good friend shake his head in amusement from the corner of her eye, but then he stilled and she turned to see what suddenly seemed to catch his attention.

Ahh, so Snape was here. “Ah, the professor finally makes an appearance,” Hermione said a trifle dryly.

“Yes. Yes, he does,” Harry said, his eyes riveted on the dark man. The turnabout in his attitude about the professor was astounding, Hermione thought, and would be even more so if she hadn’t known about the memories the then-dying man had given to Harry. “I wonder if he’ll talk to anyone tonight.” He looked hopeful.

It made her look at her friend again, though, this time with a little befuddlement. He looked almost enthralled by the unwavering approach of the Potions master—Snape actually did seem to be seeking them out. “One would think you rather liked him now,” she said quietly, watching Snape with one eye and her friend with the other.

Harry shrugged uncomfortably and… was that a blush?

Hermione really, really wanted that drink just about now. Because the thought of Harry lusting over Snape would go over much, much better if she were at least tipsy.

Ron appeared between her and Harry before she could formulate a proper comment, however, handing first Harry a drink and then Hermione. She drank half of it in one gulp. Of course Ron wasn’t hovering closer to Harry than to her, and of course Harry didn’t actually want Snape.

She hated these parties. Not even the sight of Peeves floating over the crowd, attempting to wreak some sort of havoc on the party goers, could cheer her up.

It was then that their former Professor finally reached them. His dark eyes met hers before any of the others, even the seeking ones of Harry. “Hermione,” he said with a formal nod of his head. First names since recuperating at St Mungos, for all of them. “Ronald. Harry.”

She took another long sip as Harry seemed to wilt slightly at being last in the list. “Severus,” Hermione murmured after a moment. Ron said nothing and Harry greeted him with a broad smile and a happy hello.

Though they both left it up to her to make nice-nice small talk. “How are things lately?” she asked tentatively.

“Going well,” he answered, and silence fell again, rather uncomfortably like a death shroud settling over a cadaver.

And there went the last of her punch. “I’m still thirsty,” Hermione announced after a moment. “Anyone else for more punch?”

Without waiting for an answer, she beelined for the large punch bowl, ignoring the drunken looking ice sculpture of a centaur and the nymph that was plastered unabashedly to his side. She refused to look even closer after seeing that the nymph was completely nude, complete with peaked icy nipple. It was bad enough that she flushed and hoped that Flitwick hadn’t meant for _that_ to happen.

She fled back to the group of mostly silent men, each glaring at another in an awkward fashion—Harry looking petulantly at Snape, Ron also glaring at Snape as he was monopolizing Harry’s attention, and Snape glaring at Ron for… she didn’t even want to ponder the reason as his attention immediately switched to her as she returned.

The tray of drinks she brought was emptied quite quickly, glasses taken into hands as everyone felt the sudden need for a drink. The party around them was getting louder, and they all shrank back into the safety of the shadows and eventually into a smaller room just off the Great Hall. They weren’t the only ones there, but as no one protested, they all continued to drink and sulk about the party.

Soon the awkwardness faded away in the rush of warmth that filled them all, heat slithering into their muscles and washing away their worries and the tension in a wave of complete and utter careless bliss.

If anyone had been capable of worry, they’d worry over the fact that this wasn’t a feeling to be blamed completely on alcohol. The complete lack of inhibition was startling and yet pleasing to people who had been under so much pressure for so very long. Hermione found herself leaning into Ron, hands on the fastenings of his robes and yearning for a kiss, and arms encircled her from behind, something she didn’t seem to mind even when they went straight up to cup her breasts.

It all just seemed right in their haze and she murmured appreciatively as they all sunk deeper into whatever was happening, not even sparing a second to contemplate exactly what might be going on. Just the whisper of skin and sighs and pleasure wrapping around them and keeping them safe.

~o0o~

The tangle of limbs finally moved sometime around noon the next day. Hermione stirred, stretching slightly and feeling a pounding in her head. Accompanying the dull lion’s roar (what was Luna’s hat doing in her head?) was a sense of confusion that was only compounded by the smooth feeling of flesh sliding against hers.

And the extremely unmistakable feeling of someone’s… some _man’s_ … erection pressing against the outside of her thigh. Her eyes flew open, and she winced as the sudden, extremely bright light clawed its way into her skull via her retinas. She moaned and threw a protective arm over her eyes, having to yank it from under someone else’s (what the bloody hell?!) body to do so.

A head thunked, but the person, whoever it was, just snored loudly. However, the person next to her shifted, an arm coming across her torso. The attached hand latched onto her bare (eep?) breast, squeezing slightly before tugging on her nipple. Unable to help herself, Hermione sighed and felt a responsive tingle in her belly. Her companion shifted against her, rubbing himself against her smooth thigh.

_When did Ron finally figure out what precisely makes me…_ Hermione’s thought stuttered to a stop as she peeked out from under the safe shadows of her arm, feeling rather like a Flobberworm looking out from under a leaf. A very sickly and now very shocked Flobberworm.

For she was looking at the face of none other than her recently healed, finally acquitted, still somewhat intimidating ex-Potions master, Severus Snape.

Who was still asleep and kneading her breast and moving against her with a faint sound of pleasure.

Oh, dear.

And she was liking it.

Oh, bloody dear.

Hermione made a sound that most closely resembled a strangled whimper (or a squeaky moan, how embarrassing). And it was then that Severus Snape’s dark, unfathomable eyes snapped open, meeting hers for a brief second before he retrieved his hand to likewise shield his eyes.

It took a moment but then they were looking at one another, her from under her arm and he peering through his fingers, both with expressions of muted horror and embarrassment.

And, curiously enough, a spark of attraction was followed quickly by a slowly remembered series of memories that clicked into their brains like a loose string of pearls against marble.

Hermione eeped, and though Snape didn’t let out such an undignified sound, he too skittered backward, and both pulled random pieces of clothing strewn about over the more delicate parts of their anatomy. Breaking their gaze, they both looked frantically around. Immediately around them were several other people in various slumped and yet still overtly sexual and post-coital positions.

In a corner a short distance away, Luna and Neville lay curled together, looking like a pair of almost disgustingly cute (if extremely naked) kittens. Closer lay Harry, from under whose head Hermione had pulled her arm. His brow was furrowed in a way she recognized from the Horcrux hunt—he was very near waking up. Wrapped tightly around Harry was Ron, and from their position it was explicitly clear that Something Sexual had gone on Last Night. Hermione swallowed thickly, trying to suppress her panic and a spurt of jealousy. Ron was supposed to want her, wasn’t he? She wanted him, but… her gaze flew back to Snape’s.

Who wasn’t as disgusted as she’d thought earlier, it seemed. Indeed, his eyes were already back on her, showing a certain degree of… longing?

No, surely she was imagining things. 

“What the…”

“…bloody hell happened.” Snape completed her sentence for her, but more flatly.

Of course, those little pearls of memories were rolling around both their heads, or perhaps soap bubbles were a more appropriate description, as flashes of scenes of the night before were visible within.

Could she really bend her back like _that_?!

And Merlin and Circe, was he really… her eyes flashed down, and she flushed completely red as she saw his barely covered reaction to her body. Yes, apparently he was. 

Looking anywhere but at him, she suddenly noticed the profusion of glasses and spilled liquid. Tentatively she reached out and picked up a cup and brought it to her face, sniffing gingerly. The smell of alcohol nearly made her eyes water it was so strong, but she managed to peer more closely. The liquid inside seemed to have separated into three separate layers—alcohol, base, and… something faintly pink that looked suspiciously like some sort of love potion.

Or aphrodisiac. 

Someone had spiked the punch with something much stronger than alcohol.

A long fingered hand snatched the drink from her much smaller one. Hermione watched as Severus sniffed and it and peered carefully through the clear cup through the light, his eyes squinted carefully for protection. Not even Harry’s protesting grumble as he fought his way to wakefulness could tear his eyes away from his examination.

“What is it?” Hermione asked as the moment stretched out on that damned ray of sunshine that still made it hard to see. 

“A potion,” Severus said.

The look she sent him promised more pain than a Crucio if he didn’t elaborate in the next five seconds. It was this look at often made Harry and Ron do her bidding, and it was this look that attracted some while it repelled others.

“It looks like Aphrodite’s Ale,” he said with a sigh. “Completely lowers a person’s inhibitions, especially those related to romance and sex.”

Her eyes fixed firmly on his chest, with its faint dusting of dark hair. She could remember how good it felt pressed against her breasts as they… she shuddered from remembered pleasure and present confusion. “Would it make a person do something they—”

“Wouldn’t do otherwise?” he finished her thought in an almost uncanny way. She blushed and nodded, still refusing to meet his eyes. “No, it doesn’t, though as I said, it completely removes every inhibition.”

Harry suddenly sat completely up but groaned in pain at the sudden movement and, Hermione suspected, the obscenely bright light. “What—”

“The party got a little out of hand last night, apparently.” Sarcasm heavily laced Severus’ voice.

Harry blinked blearily, his glasses gone somewhere in the reveling of the night previous. “How—”

“A love potion called Aphrodite’s Ale,” Hermione supplied in a surly but still know-it-all voice.

“Who—”

The pair were silent. “We don’t know yet,” Hermione admitted.

Harry was inching away from Ron’s still sleeping form, looking a little confused and dismayed. It brought him closer to Severus, who in turn inched closer to Hermione. Who conveniently didn’t move. After Ron’s obvious whatever with Harry last night, she truly wasn’t certain about how she felt about her boyfriend anymore.

Especially when the night only confirmed the suspicion that it had been Harry’s name he’d called out during their own lovemaking once or twice. 

“Who was around the punch before everything went,” up in a blaze of soft skin and entangled bodies, “in a drugged haze?” Severus finished, though everyone filled in the pause on their own.

Hermione’s eyes widened slightly as she remembered something. “I saw Peeves,” she said in a loud voice that made Ron finally stir and reach for his former bed partner.

Severus’ eyes narrowed calculatingly; Harry’s face fell into a similar expression.

“Cocky little bastard will _not_ get away with this one.”

~o0o~

It was actually much easier than Hermione expected to rid the castle of Peeves. Apparently not everyone had been as lucky as they had been when it came to their potion and alcohol induced behaviors, and the circling vultures—also known as reporters—waiting nearby had gotten some very interesting pictures of some partygoers in very interesting positions.

That, coupled with McGonagall being featured in one of those photos—they all shuddered at that one—was ample incentive to finally banish the poltergeist. Hermione and Severus watched with satisfaction from the entrance, the folds of their robes hiding their entwined fingers from view. A few steps up from them, Harry and Ron stood an uncomfortable distance apart—they were still attempting to figure things out. Hermione wasn’t certain they ever would.

No one looked up to the Astronomy Tower, where a lone redhead stood in the window, watching smugly as Peeves was sent on his way. Beside him, an identical if washed out replica appeared, floating with his legs crossed in the air.

“Good job with making that potion, Gred,” the ghost said cheerfully.

“Excellent job dispensing it, Forge,” George said with the same cheer, a familiar if not-oft-seen grin creeping across his face and uplifting his entire countenance.

“We’ve still got it, brother.” The two went to high-five, but instead of George’s hand passing through Fred’s (something he’d just been getting used to), contact was made for the first time.

Colour slowly bloomed through Fred, and he crowed loudly as he spun through the dusty old room. “There can be only one!” the newly made poltergeist shouted gleefully. “What do ya say, Assistant Professor Weasley… this is going to be a wonderful new year!”


End file.
